Ruminations in the Holding Office
by LeeW
Summary: The newly crowned Emperor reflects over the tumultuous events from the last few hours that have culminated in the creation of the Galactic Emppire


A gentle sunset cast a warm golden glow over the polished dome of the Galactic Senate building. For the passing citizenry that sat in their speeders zooming by the structure it was a beautiful view. Within the bowels of that revered building however there was a person for which neither warmth or beauty held any appeal.

That particular person, a hunched, shriveled person in a deep brown silk robe sat at his desk in the dimly lit holding office.

"There is a transmission from Mustafar, your excellency."

"Thank you chairman. Patch it through."

_"The Separatist leaders are no more, my lord"_

_"Good. You have done well, Lord Vader. Send a transmission to the Federation leaders. All battle droid units are to be shut down immediately."_

_"It shall be done, my lord." _Vader's blue translucent form faded into nothingness as the hologram ended. A devious smile curled on Palpatine's lips, cracking the already wrinkled skin of his pallid features. He did not often allow himself time to reflect on his victories. Reflection was a wasteful art. Reflection was to slip into one's dreams and accomplishments, to wrap one's self in the dark velvety softness of meditation and nirvana as one lost their grip on reality. It was this same devotion to reflection and contemplation that had brought about the Jedi Order's downfall. Palpatine's mind remembered well all those grueling meetings with the Masters at Senate hearings, hours of conversation and strategy centering on beliefs and thoughts and ideals. The Jedi did not understand what it was to take action.

And so the Order had fallen.

Like the galaxy's greatest warlords and heroes that waited until the last moment to begin idealistic crusades, all their endeavors had come to naught. Those arrogant warriors, fools like Mace Windu and Shaak Ti had rested on their laurels, rising too late to stem the flow of bloodshed that had drowned their arrogance and complacency. Palpatine looked down at the data cards scattered on his desk, sifting through him with newly lined and creased hands. Names of masters and mistresses and their respective locations across the galaxy were listed along with the date, time and circumstances of their deaths, documented and transmitted by droves of Palpatine's loyal clone commanders.

Mistress Aayla Secura. Felucia. Deceased.

Master Plo Koon. Cato Nemoidia. Deceased

Master Ki-adi Mundi. Mygeeto. Deceased

Mistress Luminara Unduli. Kashyyyk. Deceased

Master Yoda. Kashyyyk. Unaccounted.

Damn.

_Well_, Palpatine thought as he settled back into his huge chair, _Yoda was a formidable opponent_. But even the greatest of the Jedi Masters was no match for an entire legion of clone troopers. With the Wookies all but dead and the remainder being captured for slavery Palpatine was quite sure that Yoda would be helpless, alone, and defenseless. Well, no, perhaps not defenseless. He _was_ Yoda, after all.

But oh, what to do, what to do should Yoda attempt to come back to the capital? _But_, the rational side of Palpatine's mind countered, _he would have to get off Kashyyyk first. An impossible task. The entire clone army was looking for him._ _An impossible obstacle for the diminuitive master._ Palpatine smiled again, encouraged by the fact that numbers were on the Republic's side. _No, Empire, _Palpatine corrected himself. Just the very thought sent him into a calm, contented place deep within the Force. Everthing had fallen into place just as he had forseen. Dooku was taken care of. The Republic was now only a memory. And Darth Vader was showing more promise in his skills with the Dark Side than Maul and Dooku ever had. Palpatine was genuinely pleased with his apprentice. Anakin had gone beyond the call of duty, leading the Republic armies to great victory on worlds scattered across the galaxy. He had single-handedly dispatched Dooku. The Force flowed so strongly through Anakin's body and mind that even now, millions of miles away from his pupil Palpatine could trace Anakin's signature in the Force all the way to Mustafar.

The boy was strong in the Force. An excellent physical specimen too, agile, burly and tough, even more so Maul. A strong mind as well, with a thirst for wisdom and power that rivaled that of Tyranus…a mind that could be molded to its master's teachings. _Yes, _Palpatine thought, _things were proceeding very well_. The last few days had been perfectly planned.

Almost.

Looking down at the polished durasteel of his desk Palpatine took a minute to examine his features. Holding his hands to his face Palpatine slowly turned them front to back, the lamps on the desk bringing the details into focus. Darkside lightning had made his palms marble white, the veins on the back of his hands drawn to the surface by the electricity, his manicured nails had become long and brittle with dark cuticles.

Oh yes, the duel with Mace Windu from yesterday had yielded some rather frightening and unexpected consequences. Even with all his wisdom and foresight Palpatine did not anticipate for the wretched Windu to deflect his lightning right back at him. The pain had been incredible, like liquid fire pouring into the very marrow of the Emperor's bones. Palpatine had had no choice but to keep up the onslaught and suffer the lightening as it ravaged his body. Cerulean blue eyes became sickly yellow, pale smooth skin had become a waxen shriveled mask to serve as his new face.

Palpatine stared at the hazy reflection with a mix of fascination and regret. The damage was certainly irreversible. He would be doomed to walk the stone halls of the Senate with a swollen ridged brow and drawn, emaciated cheeks. _Still, this new face…this face of Sidious…serves my purposes well enough _he thought.Palpatine did at least appreciate the irony that his face now perfectly reflected the evil in his heart and mind. There was perhaps a sort of poetic justice in it. And his deformity had certainly garnered sympathy with the Senate. With a deeply hooded red velvet robe to conceal his face (still puffy and sore from the attack), Palpatine had presented the perfect portrait, not a calculating and ruthless dark lord but an elderly, frail, ultimately betrayed politician of the august Republic still attempting to lead the galaxy with dignity and resolve. And now the entire Senate was in the palm of his hand. The calm contented feeling returned to him.


End file.
